


A Pocket Full of Wool (Deduction is Easy)

by Jenny_Starseed



Category: Miss Marple - Agatha Christie, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenny_Starseed/pseuds/Jenny_Starseed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has met his match in one of Mrs. Hudson’s old friends. He really shouldn’t under-estimate little fluffy old ladies who solve crimes on their free time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pocket Full of Wool (Deduction is Easy)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt asking for a Miss Marple/Sherlock Crossover. A most unlikely crossover I didn’t think I could write until I had them sitting in the kitchen talking to each other.
> 
> None of these characters are mine. Unbeta-ed and Unbrit-picked.

Miss Jane Marple was invited to stay with a Martha Hudson of 221 B Baker Street. She met Martha many years ago on a garden tour in Germany. Martha was still with her odious husband at the time and Miss Marple smartly suggested that Mrs. Hudson secretly buy 221 Baker Street off her aging uncle before her grubby husband got to it. It was good advice and for a long time she had a room available in 221 B Baker Street for a cheap price if Miss Marple ever found herself in London. She couldn’t have that room now with the new tenants, two men in their thirties that Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Turner were always gossiping about. Gossiping about two men sharing a flat! My, how the world has changed. The new tenants didn’t deter Miss Marple from visiting an old friend, Mrs. Hudson always did have such a nice spare room in 221 A.

She was drinking her tea when she noticed an odd looking man at the door with a toaster in his hand. He was tall and unconventionally handsome. He must be one of Martha’s tenants. Martha always did have a sweet way of asking favours from her tenants. How on earth did he get in? She was sure she had locked the door before putting the kettle on. He must be that consulting detective that Martha mentioned, he had that observant look about him.

“Hello,” replied the young man. “I was expecting Mrs. Hudson. I’ve fixed her toaster for her.”

“Oh good, I was wondering how I was to make my breakfast this morning. Do come in young man,” greeted Miss Marple. “You must be Sherlock Holmes.”

“How do you know that?” asked the young man with a puzzled frown.

Miss Marple smiled at him pleasantly. “You seem like the sort who always goes about where they know they’re not supposed to, just how Martha described you. Would you like some tea? Martha does bake a wonderful shortbread.”

He reminded Miss Marple of a certain lad she knew as a child. One of her mother’s haughty friends, a certain Thomas Sherringford, who always assumed that everyone was stupid around him and was egregiously insensitive to everyone he met. She could see it in his haughty stiff posture and the permanently bored look on his face. He spoke beautifully and confidently, and his expensive dress meant that he came from a privileged background. Miss Marple had learned early on that people don’t change very much, their clothes and their ideas do, but not their core nature. She made a point of observing people and she had a knack for predicting their core nature.

Sherlock peered over the small old lady. Her sweet face and upright posture reminded Sherlock of the reliable elderly witnesses he knew, elderly but nosey and sharp as a tack. Judging from the complicated half-finished crochet tea cosy that was by her elbow and the neatly finished Sunday crossword puzzle, Sherlock deduced she had a keen mind for detail and problem solving. She could have passed for many pensioned elderly ladies from a middle class background in her simple dress and manners. That is if they weren’t Sherlock who could pick up distinct accents and postures that would give away her privileged socio-economic status with just a glance. Besides, she reminded Sherlock of one of mummy’s favourite old aunts that he knew as a child.

“What do you do?”

“I’m a consulting detective,” replied Sherlock. He put the toaster down, sat down and with a polite stiffness, accepted the cup of tea from Miss Marple.

“A consulting detective you say? A bit like that Philip Marlowe, private eye?”

“Nothing as irrelevant as that, no,” replied Sherlock disdainfully.

Miss Marple tilted her head slightly. “Tell me Mr. Holmes, do you always find yourself a spot of murder in the most unlikely places? Just a curiosity, I have never met a consulting detective before.”

Sherlock paused a bit. She had a sweet and befuddled expression on her face as it was just out of a silly whimsy that she was asking. Her tone and demeanour was friendly, but it was her sharp eyes that watched him intently with interest that gave her away. If he didn’t know any better, she was gathering evidence almost without him knowing it. He feigned this harmless posture himself many times while gathering information on suspects, but never has he seen it put on so expertly by someone else.

”Yes, occasionally, I do come across a spot of murder. Many of them boring and obvious.”

“Boring? I would hardly call a loss of life boring, Mr. Holmes,” Miss Marple gently scolded, as if he was a child who had spoken out of turn. “Perhaps you are bit too young and imperious to understand the harsh reality of a loss of life. Tell me, have you’ve ever lost a loved one?”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“Well then, one shouldn’t make assumptions based on a shaky foundation of experience, experience you sorely lack. Isn’t that the first tenant of being a good detective? Never work on unfounded assumptions?”

Sherlock didn’t know what to say to that. He should be angry, but he wasn’t. The woman had just politely questioned and criticised his methods and she made it all sound so pleasant and reasonable. It was as if it was just gentle conversation between old friends.

“You sound like you have experience in the matter.”

She reverted back to her silly old lady routine. “Oh I don’t know if I would put it that way. I’m just an amateur. But when the police are befuddled, they do occasionally come to me for help.”

Sherlock bristled at that. If he didn’t know any better, did she just imply that she was a...?

“And how would you help?” he asked doubtfully.

“Well, the woman’s touch.”

“The woman’s touch? That’s hardly scientific,” scoffed Sherlock. Obviously an amateur one.

“Silly boy,” admonished Miss Marple. “There are certain things that are outside the purview of science. Certain things that men don’t bother to understand because they are taught to disregard them, information they needlessly ignore or refuse to gather. Women of the world are a bottomless well of information if you know how to draw them out, fish about in an unassuming manner.”

“You are talking about gossip. You would solve crimes by gathering information through gossip? That’s hardly a reassuring method.”

She leaned forward with a conspiratorial gleam in her eye. “Yet, many a criminal was caught by observing closely the daily domestic details that most disregard. You can reveal an alibi as a lie if you listen to the murderer’s wife’s gossiping friend, recalling seeing the wife the other day at the local club, playing cards with her friends, as she did every Wednesday. Women talk, it’s what they are good at. When relaxed, their trust is easily gained and information easily garnered. Of course, I’m just talking what-ifs. I’ve been accused of having an active imagination, seeing murder everywhere.”

A small knowing smile formed on Sherlock’s face. “Ah, but we both know that murder is everywhere.”

She smiled benignly. “Oh, I wouldn’t know about that. I like to keep to my knitting and gardening. Petunias are quite beautiful this time of year. I would have thought to give Martha some, but you know how badly flowers keep on long train rides. And manners these days! Why....”

Sherlock listened to the old lady natter on. She had her sweet and bumbling face on, talking about random non-sense about how impolite people are these days and this and that are hard on joints. The woman knew more about murder than she let on. Interesting.

It was a week later that Sherlock Holmes found Miss Marple sitting across from Sally at the Scotland Yard offices. He frowned in disdain. This was his murder and he didn’t like the idea of a fluffy old lady encroaching on his crime scenes. And this had been a particularly interesting murder too. Locked doors, apparently an accidental death...yet! Carbon monoxide detector going off while the windows were open? Lestrade approached Sherlock with a folder in his hand.

“That’s Miss. Marple, isn’t it?” asked Sherlock peevishly.

Lestrade gave Sherlock a look of surprise. “You know Miss. Marple?”

“Yes,” replied Sherlock. “She’s one of Mrs. Hudson’s friends. How do know you Miss Marple?”

“If you’re over forty and been working for the Yard long enough, you would remember Miss Marple,” replied Lestrade with an infuriating grin. “A sharp lady, an excellent witness and an excellent nose for detective work. It was not unheard of to have this fluffy old lady ring us up and hand us our murderer on a silver platter, without hurting a hair on her head. She was likely the first consulting detective, doing her detective work while you were still in your nappies.”

“Is that what she does?” asked Sherlock. “A fluffy old lady doing my work?”

“Watch it. It was her work long before it was yours. And she got along better with the yard. The Yard loves her. She’s always bringing knitted mittens for our children’s charity. Don’t under estimate her, she’s a sharp lady. I surmise we can have this case solved in a week. She already collected some interesting information about the victim’s account records just by talking to the bank security guards. I don’t know how she does it. A woman’s touch, she calls it.”

“I can get it solved before she can,” replied Sherlock stiffly.

“I’m sure you can,” agreed Lestrade. “But how about trying to work with her? She’s really very pleasant. I predict that if you two work together, you can have the case solved by next Tuesday.”

“Impossible, I work alone.”

Lestrade snorted. “And I suppose John is just a secretary to you then.”

“That is completely different.”

“Come off it. You just don’t like it that there’s another potentially brilliant consulting detective on the case, and you know she’s brilliant. I bet you already deduced it when you met her.”

Sherlock wasn’t going to admit to that. He dismissed Lestrade with a wave of his hand when Miss Marple had just finished talking with Sally. It was then that Miss Marple noticed Sherlock frowning at her. She got up and approached the young man.

“Goodness gracious! Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Holmes. I was correct, there is always a spot of murder somewhere,” replied Miss Marple with a gracious smile. It made Sherlock want to kick a puppy.

“Quite,” replied Sherlock.

“Oh, please don’t think of me as an intruder in your garden, Mr. Holmes. As my mother once said, there are more than enough weeds to pull and flowers to pick through in a vast garden such as London. Though this is a tricky one, I must say. Extra eyes and ears are always so helpful in a situation such as this. Is there a way I can reach you? That is, if I suddenly find something that might be of interest to you?” She stressed the last sentence with a knowing hint and a blithe smile.

“You can text me,” Sherlock replied haughtily. Lestrade gave him a slight kick and a warning look.

Sherlock sighed. “Alright, you can call me as well. I don’t normally take calls, but I’ll make an exception for such an elderly woman such as you.”

Miss Marple ignored the slight against her age and wrote down Sherlock’s number in a tiny pink notebook with kittens and roses on it. Sherlock shuddered at the sight of it.

“All this new technology, it is so difficult at times to keep up. Thankfully, the tiny screens are getting brighter and bigger,” rambled Miss Marple uselessly.

Her eyes suddenly perked up as if she remembered something important. “Oh! I just remembered what I told Sally, you might be interested to know that the victim, Emerson, used to dine out every week during a Thursday night. Naturally, Mrs. Emerson suspects the worse, but a romantic liaison would hardly explain the nightly mud stains on his trousers that she continually has to wash out every Saturday night! Mrs. Emerson has quite correctly told me that they were very stubborn stains; they always left a pink residue behind. I told her that my old aunt Minerva, died thirty years ago, god bless her soul, used to have a tried and true method of removing the stains if they were a particular mud from a country road. The poor dear, she gave me one of Mr. Emerson’s old trousers in tears, telling me to keep them if I liked. They were no use to her now that Mr. Emerson has died. Would you like to see them? I hear you are an expert on clay and mud samples.”

Sherlock perked up at that. Trousers? Mud stains? Of course, he would have naturally and eventually found this evidence himself given time, but Sherlock never turned away a useful shortcut.

“And Lestrade mentioned that you gathered evidence from a bank clerk?”

“Security guard dear. Yes! I did. What a wealth of information they are, they are always so ready to talk about difficult customers who make a fuss over a bounced cheque worth 50,000 pounds on a Friday night. The same night of Mr. Emerson’s unfortunate accidental death.”

Miss Marple said this in such a harmless manner, expertly crafting her words to make her deductions sound inconsequential as to draw attention away from investigations. Sherlock already deduced she was not just a nosey old lady with sharp eyes, but a very clever and wily detective hiding in plain sight. She knew how to hide herself while observing, using her fuzzy charm to gain the trust of those she needed information from. Her skilful method of collecting evidence without suspicion was alarmingly impressive, a method that Sherlock enviously wished he had the patience to cultivate and refine. She already had the Yard in the palm of her hands. Sally handed her a cup of herbal tea and Lestrade was already pulling out a chair for her, pad of paper in hand. Interesting. Sherlock was so very rarely wrong, but it appears that he had a thing or two to learn from this fluffy old lady. It could be an interesting partnership.

Sherlock gave Miss Marple a genuine warm smile that he only reserved for mummy and Mrs. Hudson. “That is very interesting, Miss Marple. I believe that we may be of good use to each other. Please do continue.”


End file.
